


Écoute Chérie

by belladonnawits



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Edward Cullen - Freeform, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jacob Is Not A Poet, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Jacob Black, Past Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Sappy, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Their Love Is So, Vampires, Werewolves, Wow, but cute, edgy love confessions yum, kind of, wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belladonnawits/pseuds/belladonnawits
Summary: Jacob knew that it shouldn’t feel normal to love Edward. And he was feeling unsettled, unnerved, and out of tune, like a piano. If he was an out of tune piano, Edward knew how to play him right, how to press down just enough, how to press at his keys without judgement and bring him to another note seamlessly.-Or, Jacob has feelings for Edward and doesn’t know how to deal with it. Kind of.
Relationships: Jacob Black/Edward Cullen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 98





	Écoute Chérie

Jacob was not one for poetry, he never had any sort of interest in it.

He never understood it, he wouldn’t say it was against his nature, but it didn’t keep his wolf sound and settled. He had tried it once or twice in school during classes, tried to keep his leg from bouncing every few minutes while reading poetry with hidden meaning and undying love. 

The connection with his wolf isnt like fiction, it’s not a separate part of him, it’s not a curse, it’s not a gift. It’s a responsibility, wether he wants it or not. 

But if he was a poet, he would write about pale white skin, he would write about thin lips and honey soil eyes. He would write about the lurking of a beast in sometimes ink black eyes, he would write about blood, faded so long that it was permanently locked onto lips.

He would write about thoughtful looks and unnecessary sighs.

He could appreciate edward Cullen. But his wolf could fall in love with him. The part of him that ran on instinct and emotion.

Wrong, wrong and wrong again, stop. 

His hands clenched around the material of the sofa he was seated in, willing himself to get his nerves calmed down.

Jacob knew that it wasn’t normal. And he was feeling unsettled, unnerved, and out of tune, like a piano. If he was an out of tune piano, Edward knew how to play him right, how to press down just enough, how to press at his keys without judgement and bring him to another note seamlessly. 

Stop, jacob.

Those thoughts were dangerous, especially around the man himself. But a part of Jacob liked the risk, the danger, the possibilities were endless. He craved it almost, which was so very concerning. As concerning as it made him shudder. 

———————————————

He didn’t know how the fight started, but it did. And Jacob wasn’t sure if he could hold back anymore.

The fight was about Bella, however, and he knew that they were on the opposite of what they assumed was right for her.

The argument was nothing but a facade, it wasn’t even about her anymore, any “I know what’s best for her,” sounded more like “I acknowledge the tension between us, will you?,” and any “You know nothing about us,” sounded more like “I do, but will you act on it?,”

The tension was so high that Jacob could feel it rising from his toes to the top of his head, like his head was slowly getting submerged under water. 

It was wrapping around his throat like electric wire.

He could see Edwards sneer, but could also see his eyes slowly getting darker and darker with every word, every move, step back or dared step forward.

Jacobs breath was quickening in excitement, fear. The excitement was for the change, because something was changing right now, something significant, but the fear was for the outcome of it. But he thought that at this point it didn’t matter, as long as this yearning, as these feeling pushing to break the surface, could take a breath. If they could; maybe he could too. 

He didn’t know when, or how, or who took that blessed and brave step forward, but suddenly they were kissing, and nothing, absolutely nothing else mattered.

They were desperately grabbing at eachother, and Edward was taking unnecessary breaths, like he was overwhelmed. 

The only sound that filled the air, the universe, it seemed, was the sound of them kissing. 

Exchanged breaths of, “ive wanted this for so long,” “I’ve wanted you for so long,” “I’m here, I’m here,” “please don’t stop kissing me,” “I don’t think I could ever stop,”

Jacob had no words, because he was not a poet, but he could say that if he was, he would write about the amount of love he felt for Edward Cullen.

And the repercussions for it.

He realized that the moment they separated, they would have to talk, so in a spur of the moment, a spur of desperation, every thought of affection, every secret look, every crave for his touch was pushed to the front of his mind.

And he knew that Edward could hear them, could feel them in his very existence and in every branch of his thoughts, because the next thing he knew he was pushed to a tree, his clothed back hitting the bark. The scratching went completely unnoticed.

The clashing of burning and freezing was noticeable, but it felt so good. Like their emotions were sizzling like water on a pan, like a thousand suns were burning through Edwards hands and like jacobs palms were touching ice without it’s uncomfortable surface, just fair and soft skin. 

To Edward, it felt like touching the source of life itself, like Jacob was the honey and Mother Nature was the beekeeper, like he had been handcrafted lovingly by her and submerged and put on this earth, and slowly the honey was spreading across his hands wherever his fingers ran across. Warmth so hot he felt like he was going to burn. He wanted nothing more. 

He felt like icarus closing in on the sun, and how death sounded so wonderful right now.

He could honestly say that if in this moment he was to die, to shed non-existent tears along with blood instead of cracking like a century old porcelain doll, he would be satisfied. He would be whole.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work here. Just a little one shot I wrote. Short and sweet.


End file.
